He was a charismatic leader and the greatest salesman the industry ever saw. He also was a very vocal spokesman for the graying counterculture -- crediting his high-tech success to Zen Buddhism, Dylan songs and acid trips.

Also helping to sell it all is the fact that these films, goofy though they may be, feature a consistently high level of acting. In addition to Pegg, we get Martin Freeman ("The Hobbit"), Paddy Considine ("Red Riding"), Eddie Marsan ("Sherlock Holmes") and Bill Nighy ("Love Actually"), all of whom have appeared previously in the trilogy.

In the final analysis, that's the real endgame here: to get people into theaters and build a film franchise. For all of their film's flaws, Hood and company do that well, as Ender's Game shapes up as a decent franchise starter -- and a film that makes it hard not to be intrigued by what will come next.

While Lone Survivor is presented as a piece of hero-focused entertainment, it is a suitably sobering one in the end, and a film that is bound to stick to the ribs of audiences longer than, say, your average Superman movie.

Not, in other words, a happy story. It is not a story of redemption or healing or finding happiness amid the despair. It is about reaping what one sows. But, damn, those performances. Damn, that dialog. Damn, that's good stuff.

12 O'Clock Boys is reminiscent of the Ross brothers' far more lyrically shot 2012 film "Tchoupitoulas," which tagged along with three New Orleans boys for a night of exploration and boundary-testing in the French Quarter. The setting is different in Nathan's film, and Nathan doesn't commit as fully as the Rosses did to visual artistry. But there are thematic similarities, to be sure.

These characters are so compelling that their stories are easy to get caught up in. As with "A Separation," Farhadi's drama never strikes a resoundingly false note -- which is a precious thing in movies lately -- and as such is a film that promises moving rewards.

Does The Wind Rises represent Miyazaki at the top of his game? No, not really. But it could be Miyazaki at the end of the game, and that alone is reason enough to appreciate the film for the things it offers rather than hammer it too hard for the things it lacks.

Vol. 1 functions reasonably well as a standalone film in its own right, playing out like a dose of mass therapy, an interesting, Von Trier-led sexploration of humankind's conflicted approach to sex: We love it, but we also fear it and are often thoroughly ashamed of it.

Still, it's all enjoyable enough, playing out like a cross between "Pride and Prejudice" and "Amistad" -- and a welcome change of pace for those trying to avoid the radioactive spiders and time-traveling mutants that have otherwise invaded the summer movie season.

This is a film your preschooler will sit through, and attentively. Better yet, parents who appreciate the artistry of a well-made animated film also stand to be swept up in what is a delightful little tale.

Even when it is at its most esoteric, The Dance of Reality is always brimming with passion and a daring originality. That helps smooth over the flaws, such as its general staginess and his self-indulgent tendencies.

Sometimes the nuts-and-bolts of the story threaten to snag, most often on conversations about the very specific details of Locke's largely humdrum job. It's those moments in particular that keep Locke from ever quite shaking the feeling that it's a gimmick film.

The resulting coming-of-age story isn't necessarily an uplifting one. It is harsh. It is melancholy. It is sometimes uncomfortable to watch and predictable here and there. But it also boasts a feeling of authenticity.

As far as 'toons go, it's probably most reminiscent of Pixar's "The Incredibles," given that both are stories about superhero teams. There are also echoes of "How to Train Your Dragon" in the flying scenes, featuring little Hiro perched atop Baymax's back. But even then, Big Hero 6 still feels like its own, distinct creature.

Even when Laggies strains against its contrived conceit, his (Rockwell) chemistry with Knightley goes a long way in classing up the joint and making Shelton's film feel just deep enough to pass muster.

As glossy and well-produced as Unbroken is, it doesn't stray too terribly far from Hollywood convention. In fact, its very story structure is so traditional that it's mirrored by Clint Eastwood's "American Sniper."

Big Eyes is not dissimilar to the Keane paintings at its center. That is, it's by no means flawless, but there's an odd attraction there, something intriguing that draws you in and makes you want to find out if there's anything worthwhile there. You can say what you will about Keane's work, but in the case of Burton's film, these "Eyes" have it.

A Most Violent Year harks back to the cinema tradition of the 1970s, with its deliberate pace, its simmering tension, its gritty cynicism and its central moral dilemma. At the same time, it has something to say about the way business is done in 2015.

Parnassus is a cold film that delights in dancing along that fine line separating "fantastical" and "nonsensical." Then, when a movie is supposed to hit things home -- in that all-important third act -- it lands with a thud on the wrong side.

Built on spasms of explosive summertime action interspersed throughout a vacant shell of an origins story, animator-turned-director Jimmy Hayward's first stab at directing a live-action film ends up feeling like one great, big missed opportunity.

Sure, it's an interesting scene as he (Stone) chews the fat with Raul Castro, and coca leaves with Bolivia's Evo Morales. But his South of the Border can't be taken seriously, muchacho -- and if you think it can, well, I've got a primo cigar factory in Havana to sell you.